


One Week

by My_Black_Crimson_Rose6



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Crying, Domestic, Drinking, Ex-Military!Washington, Fluff and Angst, Former Life of Crime! Felix and Locus, Grocery Shopping, Happy Ending, I regret that, I'm sorry it was supposed to be cute but I made Wash have a sad background, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, both the death and torture are referenced but never discribed, day in the life, dealing with grief, he doesn't act on them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6/pseuds/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Monday Locus wakes up and kisses Washington's cheek before going to work. On Tuesday Felix wakes to one of his lovers having a nightmare. Wednesday is started with Washington having a good day. On Thursday everything goes to shit. On Friday they pull themselves up and continue on. On Saturday Wash wants to have sex. On Sunday they go grocery shopping and life continues on.</p><p>Just another week... to another month... to a new year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Week

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt called for fluff and cuddles and just happy... I had the fluff and the cuddles... and then the angst came in so I'm going to have to say this isn't for that prompt (so I get to write another murder sandwich story!!!) and post this anyways and just...  
> I'm sorry.  
> For the feels.  
> (Needs to be read over again, all mistakes are my own. I need to give myself space from this)

**MONDAY MORNING** —Locus

The week always starts the same for him. He wakes up to Felix still snoring with a pillow hugged to his chest and a big empty space between himself and the other man. It would be rare to still see the other man still sleeping in their king sized bed at seven in the morning. Locus pushes himself up and out of bed like it was any other day—it is.

It’s just another day where Locus and Felix retired out of their former lives and obtained more… civilized jobs that they could actually tell their families about (the ones that they had left anyways). It’s just a normal, everyday Monday where they don’t _actually_ have to worry about money but work enough to make it seem like they were normal guys in a normal polygamous relationship doing normal guy things. It was just a normal day where Locus brushed a hand through his hair and scratched at the line of dark hair venturing down his navel.

Locus pressed a kiss to the man’s blond temple when he passed the couch, “coffee is done. Bacon and eggs in the pan, you’re going to have to make your own toast if you want it.” If he was up Wash was meticulous about making sure Locus was fed in the mornings before work; it still made his heartbeat speed up and his stomach roll.

After breakfast was the shower then getting dressed, brushed, and out the door. The garage wasn’t open until ten and the traffic wouldn’t be too terrible at this time of the day but Locus enjoyed the tip from the cool morning temperatures to the afternoon warmth. He’d grab a coffee from some drive-thru and if there was a lot of time before his shift started he’d park somewhere, roll down his windows, and just smoke a few cigarettes (completely and utterly Felix’s fault) and drink his coffee.

 **MONDAY AFTERNOON** —Felix

Felix always rolls out of bed around noon on a Monday; a noon that ranges from exactly noon to somewhere close to four. Sometimes the apartment would be empty, a note being left saying where Wash had run off to (sometimes the store, sometimes just for another run, sometimes because he felt like getting lunch and it’ll say for Felix to text him if he wanted anything). Sometimes, like this Monday afternoon, Wash would be curled up against the couch cushions his hands slightly shaking as he turns to the next page in his book.

Felix plucked the book from scared and freckled fingers, dog-earing the page the man was on and setting the book on the coffee table before curling up against the man’s side. His ring covered fingers curling and covering Washington’s as he pressed a series of kisses against the man’s cheek and jaw. “Morning,” Felix mumbled gripping all the tighter when he felt a small tremble in Wash’s fingers.

Felix remembers what week this was—what Thursday would bring, what this day every year would bring to them. It was the day that they had finally gotten Wash back—the day he had left the military, that _super-secret project_ that nearly killed him (multiple times).

Felix remembers; he remembers every time Wash wakes them up from a sleep when he launches himself out of bed, or when they wake to violent puking in the dead of night, or when Felix finds him nearly holding on.

It’s one of the reasons why Felix decided to work as a bartender in one of those high-end dance clubs only three days a week—if that.

When Wash finally moved his face to meet the constant press of lips, Felix could tell that the shaking would stop soon enough. “It’s a surprise to see you up this early on a Monday,” the small smile was forced but he was trying. He pressed their lips together for another quick peck, rubbing their noses together in a show of affection.

“Yeah, well…” Felix trailed off, pulling away from his lovely blond lover. He ran a hand through Wash’s wheat blond hair; he could pick out the light gray hair starting to blend in with the rest of the strands around his temples. Felix kissed the location; the early grays always bothered him and not because of it ruined the consistency but because he didn’t have them when he went out for his last _mission_.

Felix stood keeping a hand on the other man as he rounded the couch; his fingers tickling over the front of the blond’s neck, his shoulder, to the back of his neck and finally down to the back of his shirt collar. “There should be left over Chinese food in the fridge,” Wash turned to watch him make his way to the kitchen.

 **MONDAY NIGHT—** Locus

He threw his sweat drenched shirt towards Felix when the man poked his head over the back of the couch to leer at the tallest man in their relationship. “How was work sweetums?” Felix grinned throwing the shirt right back at the man.

Locus grunted snatching the shirt from the air and making his way to the washroom for another shower before anyone else tried to sidetrack him.

“Wash went out for a run!” Felix shouted just before Locus could close the door to the washroom. Locus hummed to himself at the information; that explained why there was no smell of food in the apartment and why Wash didn’t peek his head out of whatever door (to whatever room) he was hidden in.

Locus toed off his steal toed boots for the first time (Wash was going to _freak_ when he came home and saw the smudges on the wooden floors), while unbuckling his belt Locus turned the shower to a luke-warm temperature. He sighed, shaking the water from his hand before quickly pulling down his jeans and boxers before jumping into the shower to wash the dirt, grease, and sweat from his body from a day’s work.

His muscles relaxed slowly under the spray, forehead pressed against the cool tiles of the shower wall and remained there even when the door was thrown open and closed. There was a series of quiet, but creative, string of curses on the other side of the curtain as the man removed his clothing as fast as possible before tearing the curtain open and joining the other man under the spray.

Skilled fingers prodded and massaged their way up the brown skinned man’s back, finding and digging deep into the knot between his shoulder blades. “Wash has been jittery all day,” Felix’s voice broke through the calm.

With the sound of their other lover’s name Locus turned, “spacing out?” those two always seemed to co-exists when their blond lover would fall into another wave—a build up that would slowly sweep over him and hinder all the process that they’ve (Locus and Felix, Washington himself, Wash’s doctors, both psychologists, and his family and former military partners) have all worked towards. A constant battle for the last year, a battle in which both men would do again and again in an effort to get their blond to crack a real smile and/or laugh like that little childish nerd that both knew still resided in him.

Felix nodded somberly.

 **TUESDAY MORNING—** Felix

Felix was rarely in bed before three in the morning, and even that was still considered early for him. The night that he would work he’d be out of the house until five or six in the morning—closing up, counting inventory, counting money. Some rare times he’d be up to see Locus off to work, eat Wash’s breakfast that he makes the man, and watch as Washington tears out of their room and into the bathroom to empty his stomach of whatever he had the day before.

Some mornings he’d be in bed curled up into Washington’s chest as he slept with his back pressed against Locus (he always needed to sleep with his back pressed to someone or something, so it was easier to have him sleep in the middle of the bed), he’d feel Wash wake from a dead sleep with a choked off sob on his lips. Sometimes those are followed by either Felix or Locus shoved violently out of the way as the man barrels his way out of the room and into the bathroom across the hall. Sometimes he wouldn’t leave the room; sometimes he’d back his way into a corner and curl himself in a tight little ball and sob—violent, heartbreaking, wrenching sobs that made both men immediately wake (if they weren’t awake already) and wrestle him into one or both of their arms and back into bed.

They’d have bruises and scratch marks and they both _know_ they shouldn’t manhandle him when he’s like that, when he’s in that state. But they _couldn’t_ leave him like that, couldn’t have him come back to them looking and feeling broken and beaten while they lingered cautiously not even at an arm’s length. (He had thanked them once for moving him, told them that while he wasn’t happy with being moved he felt safer in bed and in their arms then he did against the wall. He told them another time that he wanted to be held, for them to whisper things—grocery lists, or how that hockey season was going, or if Felix’s fascination with the stock market was actually making them anything or if he was bitching for the sake of listening to himself again.)

Some mornings Wash would wake up already in tears, his arms wrapping tightly around Felix in his sleep and Felix would wake to the man shaking and crying with his arms like vice grips around his shoulders. That was the morning that Felix woke up to that Tuesday—an hour after he had went to bed and still enough time before both Wash and Locus would leave to start their days. “David,” Felix started and winced when the man tightened his grip in his sleep.

Felix reached around the blond in the middle of the bed, hand groping and slamming against the bed in an effort to wake up Locus—Locus could remove him before the blond wakes up in a fit, Felix wouldn’t be able to calm the sleeping man by himself (not when his bones were grinding together under the increasing pressure). There was snot and tears in Felix’s hair, and after nearly a year of this it was still better than the two times Washington wasn’t able to clear a path out of bed and ended up throwing up on the covers and sheets.

That was a horrible day—a horrible, _horrifying_ month actually.

Finally Felix slapped Locus’ arm, he had moved away sometime in the night and his arm and leg were dangling over the edge of the bed in his exhaustion. “Locus!” he hissed slapping his palm down harder. The bed jolted as the other man came to in an instant—both of them were growing used to this domestic life of theirs with Wash, they weren’t as light sleepers as they once were in their youth (or even three years ago). Locus would never had sprawled out like he was doing moments ago, and Felix would never had slept away half the day.

Locus took to the count of five to gauge the situation and act on it. His body quickly fitting in behind the blond man, reaching around and helping Felix out of the death hold that Wash had on the smallest man before starting to press kisses against the exposed jaw and ear right in front of him. “David,” his deep voice thick with sleep rumbled in the man’s ear. “David wake up, you’re with us—they can’t have you. You’re safe.”

Felix weaved his fingers through Wash’s and held on, pushing the man’s arms close to his body before following to lay pressed as close as possible to the other man. “C’mon Davy, it’s just Felix and Locus. You’re worrying us Love,” couple-y nicknames were saved for either when they felt like being assholes or it was important. Washington snapped out of it quicker when they showered him with _I love you_ ’s and _Love_ ’s (or Sweetheart’s and Darling’s).

He shook in both of their embrace, tears still streaming down from his closed eyelids and snot still making a mess out of his beautiful (scared) face.

It took them an hour of talking to their blond haired lover still locked in his nightmare, a solid hour of feeling the shutters and sobs wreak havoc on not only Wash but Felix and Locus. It took an hour for Wash’s breathing to level out again and his body to fall weak, finally at rest in their embrace.

“I’m calling in sick,” Locus whispered running his hand over Wash’s face and ridding as much snot as possible from his face, he wiped the snot on the blankets without a second thought. They were planning on washing and changing these sheets sometime this week—plus there was cum still on this from that quick romp Sunday night before Felix had to go to work.

“Wash is watching some kids today,” Felix replied pushing up off the mattress to get a look at the clock, “something about them showing up for lunch.” Locus grunted; reaching around the calm blond tucked between the pair. He ran a hand up Felix’s exposed side, over the tattoos on his ribs and then the ones on his arms. “Love you too, shithead,” Felix whispered feeling the thumb ghost over his jaw.

Felix didn’t get the verbal _I love you_ ’s—not from Locus, no Wash got those. Felix got the silent ones and the long standing history with his (technically) former partner in crime. He got the stories and the silence—Wash got the talking and the silence.

That was fine; Felix _liked_ that about all of this. It’s what kept him from diving into his old channel of ‘friends’ to acquire firearms and a way to get _where-ever-the-fuck-Wash-was_ when the man had gone MIA for three months (just a short mission he had said, nothing to worry about Wash’s friends had said). The silent _I love you_ and _he’s fine_ in his touches is what kept Felix from losing control and breaking back into the life of crime that Wash had _dragged_ them from (he seduced them; given them a taste of not only his pretty freckled ass but of a domestic life with home cooked meals and a welcoming bed, Wash had been the one that made what Felix and Locus had an actual relationship and not just fucking).

It was fine; Wash liked catering to Felix’s physical need for intimacy rather than the vocal part of it. He’d rub their noses together, cart his hands through the man’s styled hair, run his hands up and over his back and neck (it would always turn into a massage), on his good days he’d pinch Felix’s ass in passing, on his good days he’d tackle Felix over the back of the couch and they’d roll around and wrestle for however long (until one of pinned or they just got too turned on and started removing clothes).

Felix loved it just as much as Locus loved and needed to _hear_ it.

Locus needed the noise just as much as Felix needed the touch. It didn’t need to be anything as big as an _I love you_ ; a one-sided conversation about their day or about their other lover was enough. Sometimes it was Felix talking about how he wanted to stab an old lady in the eye with an air freshener can when she eyed Wash up in the grocery store and nudged her granddaughter and suggested that the girl make a move on him. Sometimes it was Washington talking about some new recipe that he found online that he wanted to try (that man was trying to fatten them up, Felix swears it). Sometimes it was Wash and Felix getting into an argument about laundry, or not putting the dishes away, or taking out the garbage. Sometimes it was just listening to Wash sing in the shower and Felix trying for a duet from the bed—it was horrible and they had once gotten a complaint (they only ended up singing louder and Locus would join in if the neighbour was being a prick that month).

Before…

The Washington they both knew before was different than the one they got now. The one before liked both the talking and the touch—he’d smile and dance around whomever’s living room in a pair of boxers with some punk band blasting through the stereo system, he’d slide in on socked covered feet and press a kiss to Felix’s lips before leaping over the couch and into a lazing Locus who at that time was flipping through a gun magazine. Locus would grunt when the magazine was plucked from his hands and across the room so Wash could belt out the lyrics to the song in his face—he’d stay there, breath dancing over Locus’ face until Locus would reply with the next line in the song and Wash would skid away and begin an epic-ly dorky air guitar that would send Felix into a fit.

The Washington they knew was now hidden under three months of torture and witnessing a close friend’s (and they found out this friend used to be a former lover) and a few of his squad mates deaths.

The Washington they knew was hidden under night terrors, under guilt and depression, under spacing out and shaking hands. The David Washington they knew was hidden under PTSD and Felix was going to bring him back.

He’d dig him out eventually—get him on his damn skateboard and buy him a bunch of new curly straws of bright and colourful varieties, get him leaping over the couch and jumping on the table (where he’d break it) again, get going to movie theatres and making out during half the movie.

Felix would eventually dig him out—even if it’s just a bit of him, even if it takes ten or twenty years. He’d bring that dumb nerd back because he was _their_ David Washington and he would always be theirs.

 **TUESDAY AFTERNOON—** Washington

Theta, Delta, Eta and Iota sat on his couch as Wash waved their parents off as the left them for a few hours. When the door clicked shut their eyes snapped towards Wash, “sooo.” The man glanced around the tiny apartment for something to do while both his partners slept in the bedroom (still). “Wanna go to the park? We can feed the ducks and squirrels after.”

Theta bounced in his seat while the other three nodded their agreements to that plan.

 **TUESDAY NIGHT—** Felix

Felix came home after a night out at a pub to his partners watching A Thousand Ways To Die curled up on the couch—there was an American Football game on and he had a bet to settle with a regular that visits Blood Glutch. Not really his typical crowd of people but when Wash was entertaining his former Freelancer buddies and their kids Felix knew to keep his nose out of that mess (Felix didn’t get along with Carolina, not one bit), plus that bet. When someone owes him money he collects—and sometimes with interest (less so now because he was ‘clean’ of the life of crime, damn lack of blood money).

Locus watched the program with an interested arch in his brow as the narrator made puns about the deaths, his hand massaging through a messy head of blond hair. “Hey,” Felix greeted, leaning over the back of the couch and pressing his forehead to Locus’ temple. Wash’s back rising and falling in an even pace—it seems like he fell asleep on him. “When did everyone leave?”

Locus turned his head towards him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “When I was walking in,” he replied relaxing back into the couch cushions. Felix nodded pulling away from the couch to grab a can of soda from the fridge before he plopped down at the two men’s feet, only having to really fight to worm his way under Wash’s legs. “How was work?”

Locus grunted, “Repetitive. Dull. Filthy. Most of my co-workers are incompetent.”

Felix laughed at that, good ol’ Locus and picking apart the people that he works with. He cracked open the can and brought the drink to his lips. “Have I ever told you how much I _hate_ Tucker?” he turned to raise a brow towards the man, his green eyes staring at him in a silent means for Felix to continue. “That little shit goes on and on like some peacock—and he doesn’t even have my money! That fucking shit then has the audacity to double or nothing this game, which I won, and now I’m to expect that he pays up. Fucking hell,” Felix glared down at the blond man, “wish I could collect the old fashion way, y’know? Teach him not to make bets that he can’t follow through—though he’d just try to milk his injuries to try to score.”

Locus rolled his eyes, “bring a knife.” He shrugged—something he never used to do but Felix was likely the more relaxed postures his partner was starting to fall into.

Felix chuckled, shaking his head. “Wash would pitch a fit if I threaten anyone with some weapon again; you know that—Blondie has a way of knowing all these things.”

 **WEDNESDAY MORNING—** Washington

He woke up tangled in his partners’ naked limbs—they had sex sometime last night. He remembers Felix walking in and both of them talking, they both thought he was sleeping (he almost was). He shakes his head at both of them, a shot of yearning spikes through him when he feels their naked skin slide against his barely clothed body. He pushes it aside and slowly untangles himself from Felix’s Velcro-like limbs, getting out on his side of the bed and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Locus shifts and Wash stills, the man turns towards the warmth that Wash had just occupied hand reaching out until he found a next source of heat.

Wash would help but smile when their fingers tangle together and they both fall back into a calm sleep.

Washington pulled out a pair of track pants and what seemed to be one of Felix’s tank tops; he threw those on over his boxers and left the bedroom. He knew the layout of the apartment like he knew the back of his own hand. He flipped on the kitchen light, grabbed a new coffee filter and ground coffee beans before stuffing them into the coffee machine and punching the power button.

He stared at the stove, then the pantry and fridge. What was he feeling like having? He wanted something sweet, fluffy—pancakes it was then. He pulled out the pan, the butter, the mix and other ingredients and started his (and Locus’) breakfast.

Locus found him cutting up strawberries with to plates full of pancakes; he wrapped his arms around him, kissing the freckled skin of his neck. “Morning,” he yawned. His chest still bare of a shirt but from the waist down he was completely dressed.

“Morning,” Washington replied adding the fruit topping onto both stacks before the butter and syrup. Locus liked more butter that syrup, and Felix liked it drowned in the sticky substance. Locus grabbed the forks and followed the blond to the table.

 **WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON—** Washington

He was having a great day—one of his good days. He smiled into his coffee that morning while Locus stabbed at the last of his strawberries; he purposely laid a sticky messy kiss on the man’s forehead and laughed at his disgruntled expression. He had dragged Locus down on top of him on the couch when the man went in for his good-bye kiss; Wash wrapped his arms and legs around him and whined that he didn’t want to let him go with a playful bat of his eyelashes.

He was having a great day… until he looked at the date and his mind flashed to blinding lights, helicopter blades swirling over head and questions—some many questions.

He had grabbed his wallet and house keys and ran—he ran down the six flights of stairs, around the block and through the park. Washington ran and ran and ran until he felt like his head was no longer under water and he could feel the shortness in his breath and the sweat sticking to his stolen shirt. He took a seat on one of the stone steps leading up to an apartment building; head in his hands Wash took in a breath. Then another.

He needed to buy booze; he needed to drink away tomorrow—maybe even today too.

 **WEDNESDAY NIGHT—** Felix

He called Locus asking if he had any idea where Wash could have gone. If it were any other day ‘cept day (or tomorrow) he wouldn’t have worried, he would’ve started up the Xbox or the PS4 and started a new game. But today was not just a normal day, and Wash didn’t even leave a note or take his phone.

He was gone when Felix got up at three fifteen and he was still gone and it was eight. Locus was out and about doing Locus things before they would hold themselves up and follow Wash’s lead tomorrow—if it was going to be a good day or a bad.

Locus had no idea.

Felix had no idea.

It was nine when Locus came home with his knuckles bruised, Felix didn’t ask—he didn’t care.

It was nine fifteen when Wash came back looking exhausted with a plethora of alcohol. “I was at York and Carolina’s,” was all he said before grabbing the bottle of white rum.

 **THURSDAY MORNING—** Felix

They don’t mention what today was. They don’t mention what the date meant though Locus still made sure to take the day off work. They don’t mention the date but everyone still knows exactly what today meant.

Today, one year ago, David Elliot Francis Washington was brought back home after being MIA for three months.

They don’t go to visit Agent Maine (Alika Koa Maine)’s empty gravesite. They don’t go and visit the empty gravesites of the other soldiers who died on that mission. They don’t leave to visit the ones that lived either.

They don’t end up going to bed until well into the morning, after Wash had twisted off the top of a bottle of white rum with his teeth and launched it across the room before downing as much as he could in his first swing from the bottle. Felix and Locus watched on with furrowed brows but don’t take the bottle away from him until he’s swallowed half of it down. They replace it with juice then when Wash finished drinking that they switch him to two bottles of water (he drinks that) before cracking open their own booze of choice (beer right now). They allow Wash a few more swings from his straight rum in between the water and juice.

It was only after Wash passed out into a drunken sleep that Locus scooped him up and the three finally went to bed.

 **THURSDAY AFTERNOON—** Locus

When Locus wakes up Felix is still passed out on his side of the bed, starfished with the sheets tangled in his limbs.

When Locus finds Washington he’s sitting on the couch with a bottle of vodka in his hand, the rum is sitting there finished on the coffee table right beside the gun case. His throat clenches at the sight of it and he makes his way from the hallway and into the living room.

Wash is drunk, “I’ve thought about it, y’know?” he says drunkenly and juts his chin out towards the locked gun case. Locus is relieved to see that at least, but he still removes the box from the table and takes its place. His knees bump against Washington’s as he sits but he stays silent and hopes that the man would continue. “I thought about it a lot those first few months back—kept thinking about everything. Their faces, the blood—just Maine and Hathins, Franklin, Dominic, Yvin, and _fucking_ Reese. That fucking kid, fucking Christ, I didn’t understand why they sent a bunch of soldiers out with the Freelancers. Just a small, quick job… get in, get out—done.” He takes a swing and Locus doesn’t stop him, he doesn’t want to even breathe in case that made the man stop.

He falls silent, forehead creased in unpleasant thoughts and emotions. It breaks when he takes another swing. “I’ve thought about it,” he starts again reaching out and grabbing hold of Locus’ hand. His fingers are freezing; they were quivering ever the slightest. “I kept thinking about it, and you and Felix. Kept thinking about how much I made the two of you give up for my… my domestic idea. Felix loved—Felix loved what you guys had, he kept talking about how much money he could be making or how he was starting to go stir crazy. I know you miss the smell of gun powder, the feeling of a gun in your hand—of being able to just get up and go without looking back.”

Locus clenches the hand wrapped around his, with his free hand he takes the bottle away from Wash and sets it on the table beside him before taking that hand in his. He wants to say something then but Washington opens his mouth first.

“I kept thinking that the two of you would move on—you would—and that it would be easy. Or that you’d give up with trying to piece me together—or dig me out, or whatever.” He shakes his head, “I kept thinking and thinking, called myself stupid too. Stupid for even thinking that.”

Locus broke away from Wash’s hands, reaching forward and pulling that man’s face to his own. Their foreheads pressing, Locus’ hands cupping the blond’s face—he wasn’t going to let him go, no, he wasn’t going to let this man out of his life ever again. “I made you cry,” Washington sobbed, “I made you both worry—and still worry about me.”

Locus pinched his eyes shut, he shook his head sharply.

“I made you cry,” Wash sobbed again.

The tear that escaped Locus’ lashes was the first of many—held throughout months of nightmares and morning vomiting and shaking and spacing out. He had held them in with each forced smile and laugh, with each _good_ day—and even more so during the bad days.

“I made you cry.”

.

..

…

Felix found them sobbing into each other’s embrace ten minutes later. He had caught one quick glance towards the gun case on the floor before he was at the couch and pulling _both_ crying men into an embrace—his own eyes threatening to spill.

 **THURSDAY NIGHT** —Felix

They passed out on the couch for the day, waking up once where all three of them drank of bottle of water and stuffed a piece of bread into their stomach and promptly moved to the bed.

 **FRIDAY MORNING—** Locus

He didn’t want to get out of bed and go to work but he did anyways. He pulled himself out of bed, away from his two sleeping lovers and towards the shower. He washed away the pain from yesterday—today was a new day; they made it through a full year. It was now a new year and it would get better; Wash was already starting to have better days.

He wasn’t always shaking or staring off anymore.

Maybe Locus would talk Felix into getting the blond a cat—or some other animal. Locus had grown up with ferrets, three of them and he missed having them nibble at his toes and horde things in the weirdest of places. He knew Felix had reptiles; snakes and lizards. Though he’s seen him eyeing up the birds—“I’ve always wanted a bird,” he had replied when Locus questioned him about it once.

They both knew that Wash had cats—lots of cats! Three when he was a baby, five when he was seven, six when he was twelve, then when he was a teenager he volunteered at an animal rescue centre where he’d bring cats home and sometimes he’d keep them but mostly not.

Washington would tell them stories on how they weren’t allowed pets in the houses on some of the bases he was at so every so often they’d draw on Maine’s helmet and pretend that they snuck a cat onto the base for their youngest Freelancer—that or when York lost a bet they got a brown cat costume tailor made for him and made the man hang out with Wash for the day as his cat.

The blond said he spent most of those days laughing and taking pictures.

 **FRIDAY AFTERNOON—** Felix

His afternoon was spent mostly handing Wash bottles of water and painkillers for his hangover. Wash seemed to be having an alright day save the killer hangover and the puffy eyes from all the crying he did. Felix was glad for that at least, glad that he could hand Wash off to Locus before going to work at the club. He curled up against Felix’s side and watched him plow through the newest Call of Duty, the volume nearly muted.

Wash couldn’t play these games, not anymore. He stuck to Sunset Overdrive, Dragon Age and the Final Fantasy games and whatever games would catch his interest.

They ordered a pizza for lunch, Wash didn’t want to cook and Felix didn’t feel like moving to hunt for something to make.

“I love you,” Felix told his lover in between killing rounds of zombies on Live. “Locus and I are proud of you, y’know.” He didn’t take his eyes off the match; Washington pressed his nose against the exposed skin of his arm. “It’s a new year now, love.”

Wash pinched his eyes shut, kissing Felix’s shoulder.

 **FRIDAY NIGHT—** Washington

His headache went away sometime shortly after Felix turned off the television and went to take a shower. Wash was waiting on the couch for a total of three minutes between Felix jumping into the shower and the front door opening and Locus kicking off his boots. Wash waved at him as he passed and the man grunted tiredly back at him.

He watched him throw his shirt into their room before pushing the bathroom door open and closing it behind him to join the other man in the shower. He knew they’d talk about him, it was their thing—Locus always took a shower as soon as he comes home from work and Felix would join him.

Wash sighed, pushing himself off the couch and towards the collection of CD’s. He pulled out one of Felix’s that he loved and popped in into the stereo system.

_This is Gospel for the fallen ones, locked away in permanent slumber…_

He turned up the volume; a slow crank until he reached a volume knew the asshole neighbour would attempt to complain about (though they still had another six months of blackmail on him so he wouldn’t try). He could no longer hear the spray of water and he glanced around the living room.

They had a plush carpet under the coffee table but other than that the wooden laminate floors were spotless and perfect for sliding in his socked covered feet. It was a new year; a new year to improve and a new year to insure that his lovers never cried because of him (not again).

This weekend he was going to make them smile—he was going to make them laugh and smile and shake their head at his stupidity.

It was a new year.

He skipped to the next song.

 **SATURDAY MORNING—** Locus

He pushed Wash up against the wall, music still softly playing in the living room as he devoured the blond’s freckled neck. He missed the taste, missed the feeling of the pale skin bowing back and fluttering every touch. He missed swallowing down those moans that would spill from those bruised lips.

They fell naked into the bed shortly after one, hands pressing and trailing up over each other’s skin. The kisses were slow, both men soaking up the long missed feeling of the other sliding up against them. The prep was torture, a sweet slow burn as Locus watched him throughout it.

When Locus entered him (without a condom) their foreheads pressed together and breath mixing, it was slow going. The pace a full body slide in-between Wash’s thighs, tongues pressing and sliding together in the open air. Locus was drooling; swallowing down the moisture gathering in his mouth as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.

It was still slow, the sounds escaping were mostly puffs of air and drawn out groans.

Their orgasms were a tipping point between the slow pleasures, one drag just enough to send one tumbling and the other crashing after him.

 **SATURDAY AFTERNOON—** Felix

Felix woke up five hours after he crawled in bed to kisses all over his face. He groaned pushing the man away only to get tackled and pinned to the bed by a smirking Washington. “No, too early,” Felix moaned out in anguish.

“Oh come on, Felix, since when have you ever bitched about morning sex?”

Felix’s eyes shot open at the words _morning_ and _sex_ , a sly grin forming on his lips. “Just you and me baby?” he purred pulling the man on top of him down for a proper kiss.

“Just you and me,” Washington answered.

 **SATURDAY NIGHT** —Washington

Locus cooked a late dinner; salmon with roasted garlic potatoes and green beans. Wash had eaten a whole pan of cookies, and the cookie dough for the rest of the cookies earlier today so he had settled with stealing that man’s fork and stealing bites as they watched the latest horror movie to appear on their Netflix.

When their ‘shared’ meal was finished Locus got up and put it in the sink to clean later, he returned with a bag of chips (which he tossed on the table for later) and two cans of pop.

When they finished the B grade horror flick they flipped to the newest show they had started watching and never finished a few weeks ago. Wash turned to the man on his right, tucking himself further into his side. They didn’t speak, the show filling the silence well enough—it’s not like there was another to say right now.

Nothing at least that could carry the calm, compliant mood that they had fallen into.

It was nice.

…it was nice, finally.

 **SUNDAY MORNING—** Washington

Locus slept in that morning, hand lingering around his wrist when he climbed over the man to get out of bed. “I’m just going for a run—it feels like a good day,” Wash whispered pressing a kiss to the corner of the other man’s lips. Locus nodded before rolling over and falling back to sleep.

Wash pulled out one of Locus’ black tank tops before pulling on his own running shorts and socks. He spared a glance back to the bed one last time—Felix was curled in a tight ball on his side of the bed, hair still looked to be gelled up and the eyeliner he dawned on for his shift looked to be smudged—he didn’t even strip out of his clothes.

Washington sighed making his way back towards the bed to help his lover out of his work clothes. He had to stretch the man’s legs out before anything else—it took a few choice words of coaxing and a strong grip but Felix eventually straightened out. He worked quickly at the belt; unbuckling the buckle and popping open the button before pulling the pants off with a quick and rough tug. Felix groaned, “noooo” and turned to bury his head in his small hoard of pillows (they had a fair collection of the bed that always found their way towards Felix during the night).

“I need you to take of your shirt and I’ll let you go back to sleep,” Wash pushed the shirt up the man’s back until it bunched around his armpits. “Felix,” Wash whispered pressing a kiss to his ear and the man groaned in response, pulling (and fighting) with the shirt until it was up and over his head and on the floor.

Wash shook his head, running his palm down his back before finally leaving his two lovers for his morning run.

 **SUNDAY AFTERNOON—** Locus

“Put it back,” Wash pointed to the box that Felix held up in his hands with a grin. “We already have enough of your sugary cereal that you hardly eat—no.” He caught the box when he went to toss it into the cart that Locus pushed past the two.

Wash was the shopper out of all of them—Felix had a sweet tooth and Locus hated making actual food. Their former life of crime saw them mostly eating out of disposable containers or in dinners at odd hours of the night. It was weird—good, but weird, to have real food again—having to check the expiry date and for mold on things (vegetables, mostly).

Locus turned the corner just as Wash let out a surprised squawk and both Felix and Wash toppled to the floor as the smaller man made a flying leap at him. Locus smirked to himself and pulled the cans of soda off the shelves and into the cart, then grabbed his choice of chips (and the two that he knew Felix adored).

Felix and Locus had a system; they’d distract Wash while the other added their junk food of choice. Locus would carry the blond away from the cart while Felix grabbed his favourite pastries, Felix would do something (this time he tackled Washington) so Locus could grab the pop and chips. Sometimes Felix would convince the tallest man to run another distraction so Felix could dumb some candy into the cart. No one needed to stop Wash when he’d glare at them and add his choice of ice cream.

Once it was in the cart it was in the cart and it didn’t leave until it was time to pay—those were the rules.

Locus was leaving the aisle when his two lovers caught up to him—Wash glared at the cart, Felix and finally Locus at the new _comfort food_ that was added. Washington sighed, “I’m getting ice cream then. And whip cream.”

Felix grinned wrapping an arm around Wash’s waist, “ooh, is that so?” he purred, hand creeping lower to hook into his back pocket—he squeezed.

Wash’s ears coloured and he bumped into the man hanging off him; though he didn’t argue against his suggestion.

 **SUNDAY NIGHT—** Felix

He went to work like he did every Sunday, the music in the club pounding in his ears as he mixed drinks after drinks. He cleaned, flirted, and made all the more drinks.

He’d be home again eventually—another five hours or so… no, wait, he wasn’t closing up that Sunday. So he’d most likely be home earlier than that. Most likely around four, and if he’s really lucky maybe three.

He’d crawl into bed, sleep until noon—Wash would be up a few hours after he crawls into bed, and then Locus another (maybe) hour after that. Felix would roll out of bed at around noon, and the week would start again.

Just another week... to another month... to a new year.


End file.
